KKM Absence
by tigersilver
Summary: Back on Earth, having made his choice, Yuuri finds that his old, familiar life isn't as satisfying as he remembered it to be. Something is missing. Or perhaps it's someone?


**KKM Absence [And Its Deleterious Effect Upon the Half-Human Heart]**

_Dumb Wolfram. Stupid Wolfram! _

"Go back to your family, Yuuri,' and "They need you," and what was it? Oh, yeah. "Don't worry about me.'

_Stupid, idiotic, annoying Wolfram! _

"Why is von Bielefeld stupid, Shibuya?"

"Oh – Murata! Didn't see you there, sorry." _Oops!_ Yuuri hadn't realized he'd said it out loud!

"Right. But why is von Bielefeld _stupid_, Shibuya? I would've thought you'd have forgiven him all his trespasses, especially since you're never going to see his pretty face again."

"Shut _up_! You don't know that, Murata! He could be anywhere, just getting ready to jump out at me!"

Dark eyes opened wide behind the reflective sheen of glasses. Murata very deliberately looked about him, staring at grass and mud and more grass. He smirked.

"I doubt that, Yuuri. I really do."

Yuuri, too, glanced around, somewhat furtively, peering at the not-too-distant shrubbery as if it might hide a fire-breathing – oops! fire-_wielding_ blonde Mazoku. Why he kept expecting to see his erstwhile fiancé here on Earth, he didn't really know. He just expected it. Hey, so shoot him if he was a little irrational—he'd had a hard time lately and was still recovering.

And then something, just a little niggling 'something', made Yuuri frown. He peered suspiciously at Murata-kun hunkered down beside him.

"What do you mean, 'forgive', anyway? There's nothing to forgive – he saved my life, like millions of times!"

"Yes, I know." Murata-kun smiled blandly.

"Then what did you mean, Murata? He hasn't done _anything_—"

The other boy waved his hand casually at Yuuri's angry face. It startled Yuuri enough that he stopped mid-bluster.

"Wait a minute here, Shibuya," Murata said, his tone very reasonable. "I thought you were sick and tired of that fake engagement—isn't that what you told me, time after time after time? Didn't von Bielefeld practically _stalk_ you every minute you were in Shin Makoku? I thought coming back home was sort of an opportunity for you to get out of it gracefully."

Murata nudged Yuuri in the ribs and nodded knowingly.

"You know, like not hurt his feelings, right?"

"Um…"

Having ascertained that there was no blonde in the bushes, nor really anywhere to be seen on the wide vista of the closely-mowed baseball diamond and the farmer's ploughed fields beyond it, Yuuri plopped his head down on the ballbag and lolled into a total heap of teenage-awkward arms and legs beside it, sighing heavily. Murata stayed right where he'd been, crouched down next to Yuuri, his book bag dragging in the dirt.

Yuuri sighed again. This was…difficult, he thought. Hard to explain.

"Well….erm, you know, that was nothing _bad_, Murata. That was just an accident, the engagement. Besides, I got used to it, I guess…and he never hurt me or anything, you know? Well, _usually_. I think he was just watching out for me."

Murata hesitated for just a split-second too long and then nodded, his black hair and black school jacket absorbing the heavy sunlight of late afternoon. He said nothing further, though, following Yuuri's gaze into the distance until he spied the small pond at the far end of the ball field and suddenly understood why Shibuya seemed so very oddly out-of-sorts this fine afternoon. Shibuya had been weird these last few days, Murata thought, but he'd seemed happy enough to be home again, and taking some time to get used to the abrupt change in his circumstances was perfectly understandable.

"…we got along alright, I guess, and he's a good friend, you know? And it's over, so why talk about it?" Yuuri was still speaking, with an air of weary finality that sat strangely on his teenage shoulders. He shrugged, perhaps aiming to shift it. "So, anyway, why're you wearing your uniform, Murata? School's done for two weeks."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Murata asked. "I'm on Student Council, remember? I've got a…meeting I can't miss."

"Oh…guess you're not staying for practice, then?"

Yuuri waved a casual hand at the diamond. In the distance more boys were approaching, straggling along in knots and singletons. Murata was their part-time manager – part-time because of his many other duties – and he tended to skip every other practice, though he was present for every real game.

"Nope," the black-haired boy shrugged and rose to his feet. "Sorry. But I can come over later, if Shibuya-san won't mind." He waggled his eyebrows hopefully, and suddenly his perpetual smile was mischievious.

"You only want curry!" His face suddenly full of his usual good humour, Yuuri feinted and grabbed, like he was going to snag his friend's ankles and send him tumbling down into the muddy grass, but Murata side-stepped quickly, still smiling.

"Ah, come on, leave me alone already!" The Sage hauled his book bag up, blowing a long breath out of puffed cheeks in exasperation. "You just miss your regular wrestling partner, Shibuya. Give it up – I'm not like him."

"Oh…no." The depthless black eyes rose hesitantly and met ones very similar, half-hidden behind the shield of MuraKen's glasses. Yuuri's gaze seemed to dull and his usually cheerful face fell back into those vague lines of discontent it had sported earlier.

"Yeah…you're right about that, Murata. But at least you wouldn't actually _kill_ me, y'know?" he whined.

The glasses glinted mysteriously; the Sage smiled once more before pivoting on his heel and ambling off.

"Nah. Nothing in it for me," he threw over his shoulder, laughing, when he was far enough away to be assured Yuuri wouldn't try wrestling again. Yuuri glared at him, as much as he was able with a hand shielding his eyes from the sun, and stuck his tongue out. "Hey, see you later, okay, Shibuya? Make sure you ask your mom!"

"Yeah, yeah," Yuuri mumbled, looking a little put-upon, but his answer was muffled by the noise of a gathering crowd.

The other boys had arrived by then and were greeting Yuuri enthusiastically, teasing him for being so early; laughing good-naturedly because he attended practice so religiously and didn't even have a girlfriend to come and cheer for him; joking loudly that he didn't 'have a life' outside baseball. The habitual smile slid off the Great Sage's face as he walked: maybe Shibuya didn't, without Shin Makoku.

And then again, maybe he did. Wasn't that why they were here on Earth—to find out?

*

Yuuri's bed was pretty narrow. He could, however, stretch out in any direction he pleased, even flop over the sides if he wanted and dangle his arms and legs off, let the blood rush to his head. No one else was likely to care what he did as long as he made it in the morning and changed his sheets once a week.

He'd been really happy to be back in it, at least for the first few days after his return from Shin Makoku. There'd been this great sense of accomplishment he'd felt, this sense of pride, for he'd clearly managed to do the undoable—with a lot of help, of course. But even he had to admit it had all been fairly impressive for a kid who existed in the middle range of everything—school, grades, baseball skills, life itself. But the charged, excited feeling slipped away after five days of doing nothing but the usual chores and tackling the huge pile of summer homework he was landed with while he'd been missing school, supposedly laid up at home with 'chronic bronchitis'.

In a week, life was totally back to normal. Except, of course, it wasn't - or at least, not the new 'normal'. No longer was Shinou sending him back and forth between worlds like a jack-in-the-box. He didn't have to rush anywhere or find anything or worry about how soon he'd be called hither and thither. He didn't have to worry about what Wolf-chan would say if he was gone too long, or what his mom would say if he didn't get going. He had no use for massive unscheduled bursts of magical power or even the mighty concept of justice, at least not beyond the usual day-to-day courtesy. He could stay in Japan and be a regular highschooler; stay on Earth and go to college and eventually get a job.

Yuuri tried to feel excited and happy about that eventuality.

He also tried to ignore the cold, acidic coil of anxiety that stirred in the pit of his stomach: everything was fine back in Shin Makoku; there was nothing to worry about. He'd done what he needed to do and now it was over – they'd all just get on with their lives, himself included.

Well, there was the problem of Greta…but Wolf-chan would watch over her; she'd be alright. And Conrad and Gwendal would keep an eye on their fiery-tempered little brother, so that was okay, too. The blond would probably flay Yuuri alive for even _thinking_ he needed looking after, but he did. At least Yuuri thought he did.

Well, okay, yes – Yuuri admitted he was worried about Wolfram. He'd seen his ex-fiancé's face out of the corner of his eye as he'd turned to go – it hadn't looked good. He hadn't liked how pale and strained Wolfram had seemed or the fact that those amazing eyes of his were positively swimming. A Wolfram on the verge of tears always made Yuuri deeply uncomfortable – he'd do just about anything he could to make it stop.

It was almost as bad as a dead Wolfram. Yuuri absolutely couldn't stand _that._

But he couldn't worry like this; there was no point. It wasn't like he could do anything about it. What was done, was done.

"Yep, hard to believe it's over…right, Shibuya?"

Murata Ken had claimed Yuuri's bed after supper, and was now laying there doing nothing much other than digesting, one arm bent behind his head, his glasses glinting happily, the other lightly resting across his belly. His stomach was nicely full of Yuuri's mother's cooking—Shibuya-san's much-vaunted curry--and the older brother of his friend had just presented him with a box a gently used video games…of the adult-rated sort. Life couldn't be better, at least according to Murata.

His friend, meanwhile, was going through his dresser drawers, pulling out some of the pants and shirts that didn't fit him anymore, making a neat pile for donations. "Yu-chan," his mom had said, "you must have grown!"

"Right, Yuuri?"

When the Sage's best buddy on Earth still didn't respond, his dark head bent and his black eyes lingering unfocused on the black T-shirt two sizes too small crumpled in his baseball-scarred hands, Murata Ken gave up on his reclining and moved to perch on the edge of the bed instead. He reached a hand out and whacked Shibuya casually on the shoulder to get his attention.

"Hey--what's wrong?"

"I…want to go back. So bad."

The woeful black eyes rose slowly – hazy and full of a misery unlike anything Murata had ever glimpsed in their darkness – and latched onto the familiar lines of his friend's face, pleading. The Great Sage gulped in dismay and wished heartily that Shibuya-kun had _not_ looked up – so that he didn't have to see this.

"You don't know _how_ bad, Murata," Yuuri whispered, and the black t-shirt was nearly unrecognizable, he was clutching it so hard.

It was so very hard to deal with growing pains, Ken admitted. Especially someone else's—and especially when they were someone you…cared for.

*

Blonde-haired people were a problem, Yuuri decided. Granted there weren't that many, here in the peaceful suburb of Tokyo Shibuya Yuuri called 'home', but he found them, nonetheless, bobbing here and there amidst the turbulent mass of dark-haired humanity. Green eyes were even rarer–maybe one or two sets among thousands and thousands--but Yuuri managed to catch sight of those, too.

But the blond was never the golden honey shade he remembered; it didn't flame in the sunlight or glow with unearthly beauty by the light of a torch; and the green was always too pale, too flat--too disinterested. Not like Wolfram's; not at all.

So there was no comfort in those brief glimpses, no release from an attraction that grew in solitude, absent of its object, with every day that crawled by.

Yuuri saw the originals only in his dreams, which grew more memorable and more realistic every day. Accusing, loving, furious, gentle…sad.

It definitely took the edge off being home.

*

There was a red thread that bound them. Yuuri felt around for it in his dreams; reaching, finding, tugging on it as though it were a lifeline….as indeed, it was. It twanged and reverberated, transmitting an uneasy vibration to a very far place and very different time.

_Yuuri?_

Wolfram sat up in bed abruptly, his heart thudding in his thin chest, and looked wildly around the darkened room for the owner of the voice he'd just heard so clearly, even going so far as to get up and frantically search behind every door and out in the cold, silent hallway…till it was patently obvious that it had only been a dream. Just another dream among too many, Yuuri thought sadly, and curled his empty hand 'round the edge of his pillow instead.

*

"Mom? Did you really like Wolfram that much?"

"Hmm?" His mom was distracted. "Oh, _yes_, Yu-chan. Your Wolfie's _adorable_. Why do you ask?"

"Well…we're kind of really different, like total opposites," Yuuri started. He stared down at the sink full of dirty dishes, the ones his stupid elder brother wanted no part of.

"We don't, um….er, go well together, me and him. He's really loud and demanding and has this really bad temper…and he won't shut up when he wants something—it's annoying…and he's a guy, too, you know."

Yuuri put a dish-soapy hand to the back of his head, fidgeting. The 'guy' thing had been bothering him for a while now, but he guessed it was kind of a non-issue now.

His mother's eyebrows went up inquiringly, her full attention snagged by the unusual note in her little boy's voice. She took her head out of the kitchen cabinet where the spices were stored and stared at him, eyes round with suspicion. Was Yuu-chan missing his fiancé that badly? How sweet!

"Eh-heh," Yuuri continued, twisting the plaid dish towel he'd grabbed absentmindedly in nervous hands. "And, um, you won't get any more grandchildren with a guy for a daughter-in-law, either. Right?"

Jennifer considered that statement for a very brief half-second, remembering a younger, shyer Shoma, who often said things tangentially when he clearly meant something else. She understood now, or at least thought she did – how incredibly cute Yuu-chan was when it came to his darling Wolfie! And that even more darling little girl of his he insisted on hiding!

She had a brilliant idea; one that might make it all better for her wonderful second son, the Maou!

"Yuu-chan, why don't you go see him? Bring him back home with you for a long visit – and bring my granddaughter with you, for once! I want to see _her_ – I'm sure she's adorable! She can't possibly be anything else!"

A strained silence blanketed the kitchen. Yuuri's wounded, anxious gaze skated round the fridge, the stove, the countertop, the color slowly draining out of his boyish face.

"That's the thing—I...I _can't_, Mom. I can't do that—it's too late," Yuuri gulped, and twisted the tea towel like a corkscrew. "That's why I'm asking, 'cause—'cause I'm gonna have to find somebody…else to marry."

"Yuu-chan!"

Her bravely suffering son's voice trembled a bit in the middle of his painful confession and Shibuya Jennifer, self-proclaimed Protector of the Cute and Adorable, flew forward immediately, dropping onions and apples and spices and a large sharp knife all over the tiled floor.

"Oh, _Yuu-chan!_ Sweetie! Tell Mama! What _happened_!?"

*

"Shori?"

"Yes, Yuu-chan?"

"Can you…um, can you do me a--a favor?"

After a few minutes of stumbling, roundabout explanation, Yuuri stood in a likely puddle in the backyard, eyes clenched tight.

"Ready?"

"…Yeah."

Shori nodded decisively and moved his fingers, gathering the forces that obeyed him. He concentrated, nearly as hard as his adorable little brother before him, willing the portals between worlds to align.

And nothing happened. Well, Yuuri's new sneakers were soaked. Other than that, nothing.

Shori didn't like the look on his beloved Yuu-chan's face when the boy finally opened his eyes. After a long moment his little brother visibly composed himself, straightening his spine and settling his shoulders, and stepped gingerly out of the uncooperative pool of water.

"Then….can you do me a _different_ favor?"

*

Lately, Yuuri had taken to jumping into random bits of water whenever he had the opportunity–puddles, ponds, storm-filled gutters, the plastic children's swimming pool Jennifer still kept in the back yard. He'd nearly drowned himself in the bathtub about twenty-five times.

Every time he tried it there was this powerful tingle, this lingering feeling that if he'd just tilted his head at the right angle or maybe said the right words ("abracadabra"?) or even approached it all just a little bit differently, it might've worked.

Maybe it was the images that increased his desperation, Yuuri mused. They were quite graphic and some of them were actually kind of scary, in an impossible I-don't-think-I-could-ever-be-that-supple kind of way. But they excited him, too, focusing the vague adolescent urges surging through his bloodstream…the ones that seemed even more evident here, in Japan.

Maybe he'd suppressed them, back in Shin Makoku. Of course, he'd been very busy, but Wolfram von Bielefeld was undeniably beautiful and even there he'd been conscious of these little twinges, those wafts of lusty, uncomfortable attraction, the nameless yearnings that made it difficult for Yuuri to sleep in the same bed with Wolf-chan near the very end of his time there. Not that they had all that often – Wolfram had been dead for a little while.

God, but _that'd_ been awful! Yuuri didn't even want to _think_ about it, not ever again!

Of course, he'd also been very aware of the whole 'boy' thing – that was his constant excuse, was it not? - but apparently here on Earth the 'boy' thing was actually pretty much okay. Shori had reluctantly brought Yuuri two huge shopping bags of various materials – novels, manga, magazines, videos, how-to manuals – that all seemed to indicate that 'boy-on-boy' was, um, _okay_.

And if Yuuri imagined his own fiancé doing some of the graphic stuff that had peeled back his eyelids and melted his brain, then he found he was…he was, well, erm, ah…_good_ with it. More than 'good.'

And if he added in the guilt that compounded daily, waking from dreams of a Wolfram grief-stricken and tear-stained, then he really had a whole bunch of excellent reasons to get back to his kingdom immediately, whether or not Shinou said he could.

He _was_ the Maou, right? And it was more than half-assed to leave right in the middle, Yuuri decided, which was just what he'd done. Greta needed him – he couldn't be an absentee father. Shin Makoku needed him – he had so much more to do if the peace was to last. Wolfram needed him – those half-waking images had to be _real_.

"What'cha doing, Shibuya?" Murata Ken's voice asked him. "Concentrate!"

Yuuri started guiltily and then kicked at the random clod of earth at his cleat-clad feet with more force, sending it spraying particles of dirt across the plate. He gripped the bat harder, seating his hands firmly.

Still…he'd hesitated, which must be what was preventing him. Yuuri was afraid, as Soushu had never made him afraid. What if he couldn't do it – touch him, kiss him, make them physically one? What if Wolf didn't even want him anymore, disgusted by his prolonged absence, his utter wimpiness, his wishy-washy lack of action? What if the time wasn't right – he was barely sixteen and Wolfram would be forever?

Wolfram would be _forever_.

Yuuri missed the ball for the second time in a row. It went right by him, the wake ruffling his sweaty hair under the batting cap.

"Two strikes!" yelled the ump and Murata Ken went back to urging him on.

"Come on, Yuuri! You can do it! Thank of all the _other _things you've managed to do!" he shouted, his voice fierce and determined.

But he couldn't, Yuuri knew. That was the whole problem: he was paralyzed, overwhelmed, unprepared; just like when he'd first landed in Shin Makoku. He needed a quick kick in the butt to get him moving; he needed someone to tell him 'yes, you can!' like they believed it – he needed his own personal demon—he needed--!

"Ball!"

That was lucky, as he'd nearly choked on that one. But someone was still yelling at him.

"_Wimp!_" roared MuraKen, and though it wasn't the same at all, Shibuya Yuuri finally reacted.

The next ball came, spinning viciously, a rounded missile that was guaranteed to bring him down. Yuuri squared up, gathering the strength that hours and hours of single-minded practice had given him, feeling it pour down his arms, sharpen his vision.

"Don't you _dare_ let him down, Shibuya Yuuri Harajuku Fuuri!" That was the Great Sage screaming, jumping up and down behind Yuuri, his glasses sliding off his sweaty nose. Yuuri knew exactly whom Murata referred to.

_Crack!_

Wood connected with seamed leather and the ball's impact was reversed. It flew into the June sky like a skyrocket out into the atmosphere and Yuuri ran like the wind, his fears falling behind him with the bat, clattering across the plate, petty and useless, blown away by the force of his passing.

First base – they had kissed, hadn't they? That counted.

Second – well, it was really Wolfram who gotten to second, while he lay there frozen under the fingers that gently caressed him, terrified, wanting, pretending to sleep.

Third! Yuuri could imagine that, if he actually allowed himself. Wolfram was so very beautiful, inside and out, the most bishounen person he'd ever met. Yuuri could kiss every part of him, touch every part him of him and greedily move on to-

Home plate!

Oh, but it was good to be the King! Yuuri's teammates were all over him, patting and pounding his back, laughing, joking, and Yuuri grinned happily at the congratulations and turned to Murata, respectfully touching the brim of his cap.

_Friends forever, right?_ Yuuri thought.

And Ken-kun winked and nodded cheerfully back, smiling a brighter version of his usual secretive smirk.

**

Later, when Yuuri fell asleep over his make-up homework, sprawled out in his mother's garden, he could see Wolf-chan's face, proud and a little teary. Yuuri's dream-self put a gentle hand out, finding a cheek smooth as velvet, blushing hot beneath his palm. He leaned in, as he'd never, ever done in real life, and pressed the first of his loving kisses on his fiancé's rosy, pouting lips.

When he blinked his eyes open - lips burning pleasantly, the sky a cerulean and impossible blue - the bishounen face of Yuuri's fiancé was still watching him, for Wolfram seemed to be standing only a few feet away. Yuuri rose to his own feet by seeming levitation, papers flying out from behind him, his arms stretched wide and long, his legs already staggering forward – hauled by a tight red thread.

"Wolfram! Wolf-chan!" he exclaimed joyously.

But the blond's image was already shimmering, as it he were but a vision seen through a wall of invisible water. An anxious Yuuri charged toward it, as his own name moved like a shadow across Wolf-chan's eloquent face. Green eyes watched him, steady and loving—and so very sad Yuuri could practically feel his own heart stagger.

"Wolfram!" Yuuri shouted. "Come here! Come back!"

_Don't go! _The Maou ordered from deep within him, his rich voice stern and demanding.

"Wolf-chan, come _on_!" Yuuri screamed at nothing—nothing but a breeze blowing by that held the faintest scent of water.

_Come to me! Come! I command it!_

*

Yuuri slammed around his bedroom, hating it for the first time ever in his short life. It was too small; it was not stone-walled – it was empty.

Just like everything else.

His arms, for example. They were not filled with the blond who'd reached so frantically for him, only to disappear a split-second later, lost behind an invisible wave.

His heart, which was echoing with the sharp reminder of his loneliness. The ones he loved were far away and never would he see them again.

His life, pointless and useless. What did the endless conjugation of English verbs matter when Shin Makoku had no Maou? Where was the justice in _that_?

Dark eyes narrowed, glittering with menace and longer in Yuuri's face than they'd been but a moment previous. He could literally _feel_ his hair growing, trailing down his bare neck and brushing against his new black T-shirt. A sparkle of blue lightning danced over his tanned skin and the damp wind rose, ruffling the posters on the walls.

The Maou slammed right back out of the confining, empty little space, the door wobbling into the wall behind him, one word echoing back into his childhood room:

"Sage!"

*

"Is Murata-kun here? I'm really sorry if I'm bothering you, ma'am," Yuuri panted, breathless from running. He'd lost his surge of Maou magic by the end of the fourth block and Murata Ken's house was in the very nice section of his hometown, a considerable distance away from the Shibuyas.

"No…I'm sorry, Shibuya-kun, but he's not," Murata's mom replied. She seemed truly sorry to tell him that. "He had a meeting – Student Council, I think it was – and he won't be home for quite some time."

Murata Ken's mother was a sweet woman, and utterly unlike his own slightly off-center mom. She probably wouldn't invite him in and let him hang out indefinitely till Ken-san decided to amble home, though. Yuuri smiled at her anyway, trying to wipe the total disappointment from his face, though he knew failed miserably. There was no way she'd ever understand his urgency. Who would?

Only the Sage, Yuuri's key and his turnstile. And the Sage wasn't home.

"Do you want to write him a note?" Murata-san asked, frowning at Yuuri's nervous jittering on her doorstep. Yuuri could practically hear her thinking: _Poor boy—I do hope he'll be alright._

"No, no, that's okay," Yuuri forced a smile he didn't mean. "Can—would you just ask him to call me when he gets home? It's _really _important."

"Of course, Shibuya-kun," Murata-san agreed. She took he hand off the doorknob and placed it gingerly on Yuuri's shoulder. "Is something wrong? Would you like a drink of water before you leave? You seem so very, very—"

"_No_ – thank you!" Yuuri answered forcefully. He nodded as hard as he could and then bowed for good measure. "No, really! Everything's fine! I appreciate your offer but I'll just get going—okay? Thanks again, Murata-san."

Yuuri jogged around the corner as fast as he could, waving behind him, moving his tired legs till Murata Ken's house was out of sight. Then he sank down on the curb, burying his sweaty face in his equally sweaty palms and rubbing his hair every which way.

What could he say, anyway? The Great Sage couldn't help him – no one could. There was no way to open the damned portal without Shinou's help and Shinou was long gone. Yuuri was trapped, just like the Original King had warned he would be.

…How long had it been, now that he thought about it? Nearly three weeks? That was months and months in Shin Makoku time – maybe longer. Greta wouldn't be as cute and small and wriggly as she had been before this all started. She'd be getting bigger, maybe even riding that pony Wolf-chan promised her. And Wolfram…would be…would be…what?

There was a red thread tying them tight together – what if it broke, with all this stupid stretching? What would he do _then_?

Yuuri got up, swiping a hand across his face, which was damp for some reason. It had started to drizzle a little while he was sitting there, breathless and panting and hating his own helplessness, so perhaps that explained it.

He started back home, frowning all the while, 'cause, really—there didn't seem to be much to smile about.

*

Six weeks. School had started up again with a vengeance and with help from Murata and Shori, he wasn't too far behind, thank the gods. They had changed classes again and Yuuri found himself with new faces to deal with, along with old friends. There was a girl in his first period class he'd liked a lot back in middle school and another in last period whom he'd crushed on very badly when he first entered high school.

They were both cute as buttons; nice, friendly girls and not at all stuck up like some of the other ones. One of them was even willing to flirt with him in class…which would've been really nice, if Yuuri had actually cared.

Murata-kun was trying to talk him into joining Student Council, which he thought was a bad idea. He'd been pretty lousy with paperwork back in Shin Makoku (and here he winced, catching himself thinking somewhat fondly about his two taskmasters, Gwendal and Gunter), so why would he want to sign up for more of the same?

"Ah, come on, Shibuya. They need you – you're a natural leader!"

"Shut up, Ken-san," Yuuri replied, turning his face away. "I'd suck at it, so do me a favor and stop asking."

"Way to go, Shibuya!" Sajima-kun bustled by, on his way to baseball practice, and paused to whack a very startled Yuuri hard on the back. "Never thought you had it in you – but don't worry, _I'll_ vote for you!"

"Whaa?" He knew Sajima from baseball, Yuuri thought, but what the heck was all that about?

MuraKen cleared his throat. Yuuri whipped his head back to face his old friend, feeling suddenly very suspicious.

"Ahem."

"What did you _do_, Murata?"

"Well, I thought it was kind of a waste, and you always say 'no' just because you're lazy, even though you _can_ do the work and I know it…so I, um, got you name entered on the ballot."

"Whaaaat!"

*

He'd come in second, not bad at all for somebody who refused to do any campaigning at all. Yuuri put his finger in the birdbath his mom had set up in the yard and watched the ripples go, a pleased smile crooking the corner of his mouth.

"Dragon."

A tendril of silvery liquid rose up, splashing silently. It wove and dipped and fashioned itself into a miniature Pochi, pulsing blue above the tip of Yuuri's finger.

"Good," said the Maou, far more pleased with this than the almost-honor of Student Council membership.

Seven and a half weeks had passed. He watched over Wolf-chan in his dreams, worried by the thinness of that perfectly fit soldier's body, the dark circles under brilliant green eyes, the constant misery reflected in them. Only when Wolf-chan was with Greta was he animated – and Yuuri understood that all too well, from worlds away. He had changed, too. Pining did that to a person.

But soon it would be better, Yuuri knew. His other half, silent for so long, had wakened again and with him had come knowledge of the portal and its inner workings. And the Sage_ would_ help him – hadn't he been working up to that all along?

Yuuri had known it by the gleam in Murata's dark eyes, the kindly tilt of wire rims and lenses, the comforting hand that fell on his sleeve after they announced the results of the Student Council election.

"I'm really sorry, Yuuri. I know you tried your best – it's a bummer."

Gleaming eyes of endless night had turned to the Sage as Murata's resting hand slipped away from the sleeve of the Maou's black uniform jacket, as the Maou's quiet stance and innate certainty of purpose engendered an expanding pool of silence in the midst of the uproar of excited students yelling and catcalling at their elected favorites. It was as though the two of them—Sage and Maou--were suspended in a bubble of still air, tinged with the blue of Shin Makoku's sky.

"No," the Maou had answered firmly. "No, I did not…and you know it, my Sage. I have a far more important job already," Yuuri had smiled, and then ducked his head, losing the Maou's utterly cool attitude that had mantled him for one shining moment and subsiding back into merely a high school boy.

"…which I'd like to get back to, y'know," he muttered, elbowing Murata-kun in the ribs rather hard. "Um, whenever."

Ken-kun's eyes went very wide behind the wire-rim glasses and then he giggled. Yuuri found that weirdness reassuring, oddly enough.

*

Yuuri wasn't sure when precisely or how soon. He figured the moment was probably timed according to the meddling of a certain _somebody_ – or _two_ 'somebodies' – and it would be pain in the butt to try and force him – or _them_. But he would, if it wasn't soon enough. He also figured they both knew that and would oblige him. Kinda handy, Yuuri decided, being the Maou and all.

He contented himself while waiting with sending Wolf-chan dreams of kisses – he was far too embarrassed to send the blond anything more graphic than that. _Those_ dreams were totally private – and left Yuuri wrung out and breathless, his pajama pants desperately in need of washing – and he wasn't ready to share them with _anybody_ yet, much less his accidental, on-purpose fiancé.

But he'd get there…eventually. For now, he just had to get back. It would all work out, Yuuri was sure of it. He'd see Greta and Conrad and Gwendal and Gunter – he'd grab everybody in turn and give them huge hugs, even Dorcas. Even Anissina. And he and Wolf-chan would…well, they'd figure it out. _Together_. Soon.

Yuuri grinned blindly at the ceiling of his room, the backs of his eyelids featuring a short preview of his much-anticipated homecoming – there'd be banners and cheering and all his favorite people gathered in the courtyard of Blood Pledge, all waiting for _him_. And a joyful fiancé, weary of all this stupid waiting, screaming 'WIMP!" at a deafening pitch and probably hitting him or heaving fireballs…oh, it'd be heaven to finally go back home.

Yuuri sighed. And snorted at his own impatience. He felt stronger and better and more Maou-ish already, knowing he'd be back in Shin Makoku _soon_. Which would help his baseball skills a lot, incidentally, and since they had a big game this afternoon, he'd better get going….or he'd be late.

_And_, Yuuri thought, running out the door of his room with his bag and his glove and his uniform shirt still half-unbuttoned, _if Wolf-chan were here, he'd already be hauling me down the sidewalk by one earlobe, yelling and bitching about my 'deplorable manners'!_

Yuuri grinned in giddy anticipation – _soon_, very soon.

But the Maou stopped to kiss his mom 'goodbye', just in case.


End file.
